II.

When I was little, Mom kept saying costantly that people had to be grateful and reciprocate favors. Therefore, for some stupid reason, I am again on the porch, with a bowl full of warm milk and chicken pieces that I could not eat for dinner.

"I can't be such an idiot." I scold myself. I spent the entire day curled up under the sheets like a larva, trembling with the fear that the wolf will came back; then, I realized that I wanted to see him again.

For some stupid reason, the fact that he didn't kill me has convinced me of the existence of a bond between us. Absurd, isn't it? I recall what happened the day before endlessly, for hours, but I have not even found a justification to my still being alive.

So I have to thank him, show him that I am grateful and aware of my lucky. I still fear, but it's not important. Today, Mom's voice stands above Dad's and the golden rules have been replaced by the impulse.

I'm not even sure if the wolf will come again - and how could I? It's not that we arranged to meet - but I have to make an attempt.

I go through the same step that I made yesterday and stop in the exact point where I fell. I place the dishes on the ground and step back a meter, crouching down on my knees. I feel the impatience running through my veins and I force myself to calm down, because it's not written anywhere that he will come back and, above all, that he'll give me a second chance. It might be the right time he tear me to pieces.

"No, no. He will not." I shake my head, focusing on positive thinking and cursing soon after, because this kind of reasoning works only for those who read self-help magazines, certainly not for those about